The Aftermath
by SuperWhoLock124
Summary: John Watson is left to grieve Sherlock Holmes all by himself, what happens after the pain subsides and Sherlock returns? Leave me feedback so I know whether or not to continue?
1. Chapter 1

These months since he's been gone have been hell. I lost a part of myself when I lost him… and now the sadness follows me like the plague followed rodents. I feel alone and lost. How can he be gone? Sherlock… God… Sherlock come back to me.

The rain hit the roof of my flat with a dull, echoing thud. The air is cold and painful. I laid in my bed, my knees curled up into my chest. "Sherlock! Sherlock, comeback." Tears stained the pillow, my face red and swollen. "Sherlock… Please." This pain was the realest thing I've ever felt. It was as if someone had replaced my heart with a boulder. The familiar pattern no longer beating, instead, a ragged uncomfortable one in its place. "Sherlock Holmes… You're my bestfriend.. please come back." This feeling didn't cease, but only grew stronger as the days dragged on. How could this have happened? How could he have ever thought that leaving me would make anything better. "_Look at me, John. Keep your eyes on me."_ His words echoed in my skull, bouncing around between each section. It danced over my emotions and left behind a chasm that would never be healed. Sherlock Holmes is dead and I never had the chance to tell him I love him. I couldn't kiss him, or hold his hand close to my heart. I can no longer look into those shining blue eyes that made the world melt into nothing but us. He is gone and I can never again hear his beautiful voice.

I heard a knock on the door and frowned.

"John," A female voice called through the thick wood. "John, deere… Open the door." Mrs. Hudson sounded so beaten down. She is only trying to help me. I know that. But, I can't look at her without Sherlock appearing in such graphic detail within my mind. His dark curls bouncing so vivaciously around his perfectly symmetrical face. Those blue eyes that could stare so deeply into your soul you felt no need to be afraid of say anything, it was as if he already knew everything. His voice so mysterious and elegant that the birds would gather to hear him speak.

"I'm alright, …" My voice cracked. My throat was hoarse and dry. My eyes and face rubbed raw from the salty cage that surrounded them. I sniffled and pulled the cover up over my head. I closed my eyes begging for a fragment of diversion from the pain. I needed to sleep.

"John, at least eat something…" her voice was filled with such sadness it caused my tears to start again harder. My head pounded, my chest was crushing me, and my whaling could be heard all over Britain.

"Please… Please leave me be!" I threw the closest thing on my nightstand at the door and bawled hysterically. "I need to be left alone!" I could hear her begin to cry, the clacking of her heels leaving a deeper empty feeling in my heart as she walked away. I don't want to hurt her, I just… I can't do anything right now. There's no point at all. Again I attempt to close my eyes. They feel heavy with sleep and grief. As I begin to drift, my mind fills with the sight of Sherlock. The way his lips and eyes crinkle with his smile. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen, and I'd never see it again… never again. Tears stream slowly down my cheeks. How can this hurt so bad? How will I ever survive this? HOW!?

After waiting a few moments I sit up. My head is swimming and my face is numb. I attempt to get on my feet, only to stammer and land back on the bed.

"GODDAMN IT!" I sherik. "Cut me some slack will you?!" I throw my head back and yell at the ceiling. "Can you do that for me, Sherlock?" I try again to get to my feet, taking it a bit slower this time. I gain my balance and begin sulking towards the door. As I reach for the handle my foot comes down on something sharp and I let out a shriek of pain. The object made a snapping sound and I bend down to find Sherlock's magnifying glass in pieces. "Oh God… no… Please no." I scurry to pick up the pieces cutting my hand in the process. Tears fill my eyes and it becomes hard to see. I set the pieces i have gathered onto a worn sock and collapse against the wall. I heave, trying to catch a breath. 'I need to clean my hand' I thought to myself. I open my door, pushing back some of the broken magnifying glass. I walk to the small kitchen, still littered with chemistry sets and science projects. Sherlocks unwashed tea cup sat by his pile of cigarette butts on the side of his chair. The flat is a shrine to him.. Nothing moved.. Nothing replaced. It all just sits in the same spot, as it had been that dreadful day. His memory leaving behind a Pompeii like effect.

I waddled to the sink and let the water run over it, the burn letting me know I'm still alive. When all the blood is gone, I pour myself a brandy and sit across from Sherlock's ghost. "You're such a dickhead." I slur my words and drift into a sleep that, I as a doctor, would call a comatose state.


	2. Chapter 2 The Goodbye

Sherlock's P.O.V.

The air was freezing. The cemetery where I was to be buried was almost empty. Mycroft was by my side.

"This is what's best, Sherlock I told you not to get attached."

"Shut up, Mycroft. You sound so unintelligent."

"Don't get irrate. You did this to him, Sherlock, not me." I shouldered Mycroft and walked towards my grace. I stood behind a tree just a few feet away. I watch them lower an empty coffin into the ground. Everyone standing around it was crying… sniffling. They all cared about me? That's a shock. Where is John? That's what mattered… Where is John? My eyes searched the crowd, looking for the blonde tuft of hair. In a moment I find him, his eyes brimmed with tears. I missed his smile… He always used to smile. "_Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain. You need me or you're nothing. Because we're just alike, you and I, except you're boring. You're on the side of the angels."_ Moriarty's words dance through my head like a million tiny ballet dancers. I can assure you… I am no angel. I hope that John can forgive me someday… this was all for him.. I hope that one day he can understand this is all for him…

"John… I'm so sorry…" I whisper. He lifts up his head and peers into the trees off to the right of me.

"This is what's best, Sherlock. A new place, a new identity. John will be alright." Tears escaped down my face.

"He's hurting because of me, Mycroft! I can't just walk away from him… He needs me…"

"Yes! Yes, he does! But, you're dead!" he grabbed my arm. "You're dead, Sherlock Holmes." I yanked my arm away.

"Just give me some time… Then I'll go.. forever."

"There will always come a time when the world needs Sherlock Holmes… Don't forget that. Don't do this to yourself, Little brother. You need to grieve as well… remember that." He walked off behind me in the direction of his parked car.

The funeral was ending, everyone slowly walking away. John was the only one left… His heart out on his sleeve, the tears flowing down his face, leaving a trail of red in their wake.

"You.. you told me once that you weren't a hero. Umm, there were times I didn't even thib you were human." He sniffled and his voice cracked slightly. "But let me tell you this, you were the best man, the most human… human being that I've ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie," He ran his hands over his face. "So there. I was so alone, and I owe you so much. But, please, there's just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock. For me… Don't… be… dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it… Stop this."

My eyes were fighting back the hurt… the tears. I put my hand over my mouth, tears running over my fingers. "Sherlock, please…" I turned my back to him… waiting for him to leave.

"C'mon, John… lets go." grabbed his arm and shuffled him off.

"Goodbye, John." i walked away. Away from all this pain… this love. Hoping for an ending to all this madness… I flip the collar of my trench coat upwards, straighten the scarf around my neck, and walk to Mycroft's car. "Keep him safe when I'm gone, Big brother… won't you? Please…?" He just shook his head and urged me in.

"It's time to go." I scooted in and closed the door. Is this the last time I will see the beauty of London…? I bowed my head into my chest… Stay safe John Please.


	3. Chapter 3 Home Sweet Hell

Sherlock's P.O.V.

America is so unusual. They accepted me with open arms, but they complained when outsmarted. They didn't appreciate foreign help, so why am I here? Is this the closest Mycroft could get me to John without being with him?

" , Phone for you!" My assistant Petra handed me my mobile.

"Thank you, Petra. Hello?" I hold my phone to my ear lazilie.

"Good morning, Little brother." Mycroft spoke slyly. "I'm assuming you're horrible."

"What do you want, Mycroft?" I asked annoyed. "I'm very busy."

"Looks like England needs a hero, Sherlock." He sounded concerned. "We need you."

"For what exactly, may I ask?" I was excited but I wasn't sure if he was being serious or factitious.

"You'll get briefed in the plane. Head this way now. Petra has all the information." He ended the phone call and I shot upward.

"I need the Information now, Petra. Please?" I gather all my things and head to the airport. My coat and scarf in their usual places. Today was the start of a new era. I could feel it.

The plane landed around noon. Anticipation filled my entire body. I wondered what John was doing… I wondered if Mycroft kept my flat. I wondered if Molly still loved me. My mind drifted to thoughts of John, my bag drooping slightly off my shoulder.

"Well if it isn't Sherlock Holmes." Greg Lestrade appeared in front of me looking Dumbfounded. "They all thought your death was a hoax. I didn't want to believe them until Mycroft informed me just how alive you are." He hugged me close and slapped my back affectionately. "It's so good to see you, you sly bastard!"

"It's good to see you too, Lestrade."

"Did your brother tell you why you've come back?" He took my bag and began walking towards the entrance.

"He said that England needed me… Some sort of terrorist attack i'm presuming." My eyes never left the space in front of me.

"Essential…

They proved all of Moriarty's accusations wrong… You've been freed of falsehood." He smiled. "You're not a lying shit after all!"

"You actually thought I was a 'lying shit'?" I asked concerned.

"No… You were a man who died too young. Now everyone knows!" He smiled.

"Ahh, well. Good then." The only thing that mattered, the only thing dancing over every crevice of my mind, was John. I couldn't manage to get the words out of my mouth. "H-hows John?" The words stumbled out of my mouth as if I were drunk. My heart fluttered at just saying his name out loud… It had been so long since i'd even mentioned him…

"That I don't know. You're going to have to ask Mycroft. He didn't think you were dead either, Sherlock. He searched all over the United Kingdom for answers… He still lives in your flat… Are you going to see him?" My heart fell to my stomach. Would he even want to see me… would he forgive me for all this pain?

"As soon as I can manage."

The streets were all the same. They had the same eerie, empty feel that it had when John and I took shelter here together. It was a beautiful day. The birds sang a beautiful morning lullaby, the cars of London down to minimal use today. And still, with all the peace, my nerves were working in a way that was shocking even to me. It felt as though electricity is flowing through my body, from my fingertips to my little toes. It's moments like this that make me regret not letting John know… Not telling him that I'm alive and that I love him…

I walk to the front door, the golden 221B setting an ache deep in my heart, a throbbing really. I open the door slowly, a creak causing my heart to jump. The house was quiet, and calm. I walked up the familiar stairs and to the door of my flat. My chest tightened… Was John here? Would he be excited to see me? Angry? I swallowed my fear and opened the door. Walking in, I noticed that nothing much had changed in the time I'd been away. Nothing moved or fiddled with. As I got further Inside I see John… He was asleep in his chair, a glass of amber liquid in his right hand. His face was puffy and red, as though he'd had himself a long cry. I sat down in my chair and just watched him for a moment. He looked as though he was having nightmare, and in that moment he opened his eyes… I wasn't ready for this.


	4. Chapter 4 In Theory This Worked Out

John's P.O.V.

The night had brought me some peace. Sleep gave me dreams of sherlock and of happy days… but, it inevitable turned into a nightmare as I again replay his death in my mind. When I awake the world is foggy. My head was pounding and the room had sort of a halo of heavenly light about it. But, it still felt gloomy.

"I haven't got friends, John. I've just got one." The voice was so familiar, but I couldn't concentrate my eyes enough to see this mystery person. The room was spinning as though I had just stepped off a carousel.

"Sh-sherlock?" I rubbed my eyes raw attempting to get the sleep out of them, my hangover not helping me in the slightest bit. My heart was racing… my fingers were going numb and I could feel the adrenaline pumping quickly throughout my body.

"Hello, John." His voice was beautiful. I couldn't gather myself I assumed I was still dreaming. I ran my hands across my face, practically clawing at my eye sockets. I needed to get my head on straight. Process this, John. C'mon. "How've you been?" My head was swimming with confusion. He was dead, I know he was dead. I felt his pulse diminish from beneath the skin of his wrist. He didn't have a heart beat. My eyes begin to sluggishly adjust to the sights around me. As I peer out in front of me through the slits in between my fingers I see how welcomed back his chair makes him. It still fits his small frame so perfectly. His hair shined a sleek black in the sunlight, which still hung around like an omniscient being.

"No," I spoke, my voice still sadly hoarse. "No! You were dead…" I stood up and attempted to make sense of all this nonsense. "This makes no sense!" I paced around the room clumsily, trying to get a grip on my down spiraling world. "You were dead…"

"I thought you'd be more excited to see an old friend." Sherlock smiled his famous smile, the wrinkles appearing in tall the same places… It was stunning.

"A dead friend!" I leapt towards him toward him, clasping my hands firmly around his throat. "You dickhead!" I let go, stood, grabbed my jacket and bolted down the stairs.

"Oh C'mon, John!" Sherlock yelled after me.

"John! What a lovely surprise!" Mrs. Hudson Cooed.

"Not now, . Please." I ran out of the door and slammed it shut, but not before mrs. Hudson yelled something about my knickers.

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I stood up slowly. John obviously took that well. I glanced around the room and took in the stale smell of home. I missed this. My chair and possessions all in the same spots. John's brandy glass had fallen on the rug and left a huge amber wet spot. When did he start drinking?

I exit the apartment in time to hear Mrs. Hudson yell at the door. "What's got your knickers in a bunch?" I step down the stairs quietly, my hand gliding across the handrail. I pass the spot on the wall that clawed at the day she was taken hostage… and the kidnapper causally fell out of the window.

"That," i say stepping onto the landing. "would be me." I attempt to gather my thoughts until she screams and falls back into her curio cabinet. There was no break in the screaming, she just went until her lungs were empty. "Mrs. Hudson, please. Stop that. That's rather obnoxious." I walk towards her and she cringes away.

"Don't touch me! You're dead!" She stood up and I pulled her close for a hug.

"Not exactly, I'll explain later, for now I have to find John."

I run out the door frantically searching for John's frantically searching for John's golden blonde hair. Nothing was in my line of sight, no sign of John anywhere. "John?!" I called out, my voice echoing out among the buildings, ringing about the parked cars and unlit lamp posts. I run faster, the only sound is my loafers on the pavement and the flapping of my trench coat in the wind.

I turn at the end of Baker street just in time to see John pile into a cab. My heart shoots into my stomach as I hail another taxi. I tell them to follow John and they do as asked. The drive is only about 20 minutes, but soon i realize where we are going.

It's a funny thing the human brain, it brings to mind places that once made you happy. They urge you to go to this singular location and no matter what it will make you feel better. More often than not thats surely the case… but then theres moments like now. Moments where John use to come and have chats with me at my grave… and now that i'm alive… his brain is looking for a way to process this high intensity emotion… and it's still looking for me.

I'm not sure what to do, so I sneak up behind John and listen to him speak to me the way he must've always done. When he finishes he turns around and Hugs me tight. I've never felt so much love in one spot… Was this the beginning of forgiveness? I didn't care… I just hugged him close and smiled. This was heaven in its truest form, this coming from a man who was not God fearing.. Imagine that.


	5. The Mystery Of the Magnifying Glass

Sherlock's P.O.V.

The streets of London were filled with the familiar buzz of the city. I could feel the concrete rattle beneath my feet, causing my entire body to vibrate. The sky held the sun captive behind smoke grey clouds, overtaking the air with an unusually cold climate. I felt a few drops fall here and there, nothing that signals a storm. The only good thing about rain is the smell it leaves on the pavement. I loved the smell of rain! My window had speckles of drops scattered about the glass. My tea made a funny shaped fog cloud near the bottom of the right side, making me contemplate sciences in my head. I was in my bathrobe lounging about in the front room trying to once again get ahold of life.

The house was quiet when John slept. It left me to sift through my thoughts making them easier to access them later on in life… especially when I need them most. As the mist on the corner of my window begins to dissipate I feel a sort of emptiness rise to the pit of my stomach. It lingers there waiting for something, anything really, to fill it, These days without having John all started with a feeling much similar to this one. Shouldn't it have been filled when I got him back?

I sit down in my chair, placing my hands against one another directly under my chin, the tips of my fingers brushing my lips. My mind bouncing from idea to idea attempting to give a name to the culprit of my discomfort.

"You know, you're going to bust a blood vessle in your head if you keep thinking that hard." John yawned. He shuffled down the hall into the bathroom. I hear the shower turn on, the familiar rush of water calming me slightly. I can tell John is still angry… I hope he will forgive me.

I walk to the kitchen, past the chemistry projects and other experiments long forgotten, dropping my tea cup, still half full, into the sink. My mind is still traipsing through all my memories to find the offending party. I don't like this feeling… Guilt. Thats what it is, isn't it? It's guilt.

I sauntered past the sitting room, headed to my bedroom. I open my wardrobe and pull out a deep black suit. I begin Stripping off my bathrobe and stepping into crisp new clothes. As I adjust the clothes i noticed how most of my things were still here, in the exact same spot as when I left except one thing. Where is my magnifying glass? My eyes search over the contents of the room again… Still nothing. Where could that thing have gone to?

I step into the sitting room with eager eyes. Where is that thing? I walk up and down the house, searching everything my eyes could scan. Unwilling to give up I decided to confront John. I step into the bathroom, the door knocking into the wall behind it.

"Jesus, Sherlock! GET OUT!" John shouted over the running water.

"Where is my magnifying glass, John?" I strained to be heard over the roar myself. I waited a few moments for a response. "John?"

"OUT SHERLOCK!" He shouted angrily. "Now!"

I do as John asks and step out of the bathroom, closing the door once more. I paced around the front room considering all the possibilities. I knew something had happened to it, but what? As I contemplated the options i heard John open the bathroom door. He was dressed in his usual button up and jeans and I couldn't help but smile slightly. His hair still had drips of water falling, hitting his jacket and the carpet. He walked past me in the direction of the front door.

"I'm going out. I'll be back later." He walked out and it left me wondering where he was going. I wanted to follow, but then my phone rang.

"Hello?" I spoke as i answered .

"Little brother, we need to talk. Meet me at my house." He hung up. I stood and pulled my trench coat on. The mystery of the magnifying glass would have to wait.


	6. The Hearty Affliction

John's P.O.V.

The air was cold and it nipped harshly at my face as I pulled my coat closer to me. London now felt different to me. Just a week ago, I walked out the doors of 221B and felt nothing but a twinge of regret and sadness. Sherlock filled my life with so much, when he died it was like London lost all appeal to me. No offense to the loud, booming glory of this magnificent megalopolis, everything really lost appeal to me. It was as if without Sherlock, life was simply pointless. Now, with his recent resurrection, it feels as though everything is just back to normal. The smells of the dirty, smoggy, coffee filled air now made me feel ecstatic and on point. I felt alert and hyper.

How does this happen? How can you grieve, which I'm still doing slightly, and then feel better because the object in which you were grieving is back in it's spot in your life. Sherlock made an impact on everyone's lives here in London. He found and captured the biggest threats London seemed to face. He found Moriarty and stopped whatever evil scheme he seemed to be dancing with. Granted, it was only after Moriarty destroyed his credibility, that Sherlock was able to end that madness… And took his own life. So we thought. Why would he do this? I just don't understand… I thought… No, I can't think that.

I walked on, not sure where I was going. My nose caused billowy spots of steam to rise into the Mid-December air. The streets were unusually quiet. A few cars here and there. My hands were begging to go numb so I shoved them into my coat pocket and pushed downward. Inside I felt something sharp stab my hand. I pulled it out to see little droplets of blood trickling down the side, dripping onto the concrete. Confused, I put my left hand in the pocket to find pieces of glass layering the bottom of my pocket. It was Sherlock's magnifying glass. I let out a long sigh, and pulled out my phone. I dialed Sherlocks number, hoping that he would understand the whole broken magnifying glass mess, and as I was about to hit send, I feel a painful stab in my neck. I begin to feel woozy, uneasy. My legs become Jello… and Then nothing. Absolute darkness.

Sherlock's P.O.V.

As I stepped into Mycroft's glorious Mansion, I feel uneasy. My brother didn't tell John I was alive, of course, but, I can't help but feel a little angry at that. I wanted to know that staying dead wasn't the best option… I hopped that coming out of hiding would've done John good… but, he was so bloody angry at me. I tugged at my scarf as I push past my older brother.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" My voice sounded annoyed, slightly angry even. How could I be mad at him for keeping my secret? I asked him too, John wouldn't have been able to keep his mouth shut. I walked into the sitting room and plopped down, gracefully I might add, into a large armchair that took up nearly an entire corner of the room. Mycroft joined and sat opposite me in an equally large chair. He crossed his legs and stuck his left hand in the air like he'd done every time something became serious. I couldn't help but notices the wrinkles in the bottom of his shirt, and the bags under his eyes. He must have pulled an all-nighter, the same clothes clung to his body that were there the day before and the little hair he had was unkept. This was going to be a good case.

"London need's you little brother. There has been a series of untraceable threats sent to the queen. The threats range from killing her to the entire London population. There's been a series of bombing threats as well. This isn't unusal except… They're all signed 'For Sherls, From Moiry.'. I assume you understand what this means, Little brother." He leaned forward in his chair, He smelled of stale cigarettes and old booze.

"Have you been drinking again big brother?" I leaned back in my chair and placed my hands under my chin, touching my lips lightly with my finger tips. Mycroft rolled his eyes and stood. He paced about the room, gathering together papers and file holders. He had worry written all over his face.

"That doesn't matter Sherlock! This is serious!" As soon as he said that my phone started ringing, it was a shrill noise, and actually quite annoying. I pull it out to see John's name displayed on the screen. I slide my finger across the smooth surface.

"Holmes." I hissed into the receiver.

"To Sherls, From Mori." A voice spoke softly. "Two Hours Mr. Holmes, That's all you have. Find us, or John Dies." The receiver clicked off and I felt panic in my chest. I stood and frantically gathered my stuff. I ran to the door and out to the taxi still waiting. I hear Mycroft yell something inaudible out the door as I seat myself and yell at the driver to take me to Greg's office. I had to find John. And I had to find him now. Oh god… This is all my fault…


	7. Within 221B

Sherlock's P.O.V.

_Flashback to a Rainy day Before the empty Hearse_

It was a quiet day in London. Rain splattered against the pavement, drops clinging to the flat window for dear life. I stood by the window, encompassing the cold feel of the window all around me. The steam from my tea created little fog patches all around the glass. I laughed and drew a smile in the one closest to my hand. This seemed to be a recurring thing. The hot tea swirled about the bottom of the cup as I lifted it to my lips. It was warm against the soft skin it touched. I could hear the crinkle of the paper as John turned the pages. My rob dangled off my body, flowing behind me as I drop my cup in the sink and then sit right in front of John in my armchair. "Anything good in the paper today, John?"

He shook his head and turned the page.

This is how are days were. I flipped open John's laptop and started scrolling through all the potential cases there were. Women and Men all asking me to see if their husbands and wives were cheating. Children asking for us to search for lost pets and Dead grandparents. It seemed like life couldn't get more spectacular. John was happy, at least, he seemed to be. It was as if, when together, there was no team like Holmes &amp; Watson. We worked so well together… I … I think I loved John. How, I hadn't quite figured out yet… Maybe someday my deductive skills will add the happiness in my life… rather then just take away from it. "John, I…" The words escaped my lips… my mind.

"Yes, Sherlock?" His eyes, those beautiful light blue beauties, searched mine. Waiting eagerly.

"You, you pick the case this time."

_Present day; Greg's Office, John's missing. _

My jacket was tugging my hair slightly so I pushed the collar down. I could feel my hands shake. Where could John be? I handed my phone to Greg. "Find that number, John's running out of time!" Greg looked flustered. He didn't seem to want to deal with me. He found out 30 minutes earlier that I was alive, and now I need his help. He was going to need to get over it quickly. He seemed happy that I was still alive, but now irritated that he only knows because I need his help. "Look Sherlock, I can't do much. All you have is a Blocked number. See if you can get them to call back… Something, but i've got nothing to work with. I'm sorry."

I slammed my hand down on the desk and stormed out. If he wasn't going to help I was going to need to do this on my own. First, I need to get 's help… I need to find John before I loose him… Again.

John's P.O.V.

There are few places in this world that feel like home. Sherlock's flat is the first place in a long time I could sleep knowing everything would be alright. That I would be taken care of. Even with this blindfold over my eyes, I knew where I was. The familiar fabric of my armchair rubbed against my arms. I was still groggy from whatever they put into my neck, and my head hurt. It felt like someone replaced my brain with a drum and was beating it like an insistent indian. My fingers were aching from how tightly I was bound at the wrists. It smelled like 's tea and dust. This is also what Sherlock smelled like a vast majority of the time. It seemed to me that, despite their "best efforts.", Sherlock would find me quite quickly. What was all this for? What did they need with me ?

Hours seemed to pass… I began to lose hope that he was coming… I felt my heart sink in my chest. Why hadn't he come yet? I closed my eyes… Hoping sleep would pass the time… I faded… away from all this… into a land that maybe wasn't going to hurt me.

Sherlock's POV

was snuggled deep into a chair that sat in her kitchen. She had a steaming cup of tea in front of her. Her face, wrinkled with years of laughter and smiles, sadness and tears. I opened the front door and waved to her. "I'll be down shortly. I have to gather some things. I have a question to ask you when I return." I took the stairs two at a time when I noticed something off. The door was still slightly open, fibers gathering in a crack in the wood that weren't there this morning. There was a new fragrance of cologne in the air… Something completely unfamiliar. I heard deep voices chuckling behind the door… Saying something… I listened closely.

"Do you think this Sherlock fellow will ever think to come home?" The first spoke. He laughed and sipped on something.

"No," The second began. "They never think to check home." At that moment I burst through the door and everyone in the room jumped. They seemed to be scared, well frightened at least. "Bloody 'ell."

"Where is John?" I yelled into the silence. They both stood, approaching me slowly. I braced myself for a beating… when I heard 's heavy steps coming up the stairs. I walked towards the door and opened it wider. She had in her hands a heavy frying pan. I stuck my hands out and she handed it to me. I put it behind my back and then returned to the men in my sitting room. One had disappeared and the other was itching to fight. I walked up towards him and let him swing first .He misses and I knock him out cold with the frying pan.

I walked down the hallway to see the second hidden in John's bedroom where John lay quietly asleep. The man lunged at me, catching me off guard. He hit my face and jumped back. I picked him up, angry, and smacked him with the frying pan. we fumbled a bit and then we both landed ourselves back in the sitting room. He was kicking my ribs and punching my head when I finally got to my feet. I tackled his midsection, causing him to fly back to the window and break all the glass. We dangled out the window a moment Until I let go and the intruder fell two stories.

I dusted myself off and began to walk back to John. In that moment I felt the barrel of a gun press into my back. I flinched as its owner spoke.

"Well, Look at you Sherls… Don't you look wonderful this evening."

Moriarty has returned…


End file.
